


The Night of the Snow Drift

by certaintendencies



Series: Environmental Storytelling [2]
Category: Wild Wild West (TV)
Genre: Gen, Huddling For Warmth, Naked Cuddling, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-11-03 21:16:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20695601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/certaintendencies/pseuds/certaintendencies
Summary: Artie gets cold. Jim warms him up.





	The Night of the Snow Drift

It was cold.

Artie was so very cold.

His resigned sigh clouded up in front of him, a billowing memorial to wretchedness. He trudged through it.

His teeth hurt.

He couldn't feel his ears or his toes. He wished he couldn't feel his fingers; they stung and ached and wouldn't do what he wanted them to do.

Damn snow anyhow. And cold weather in general.

He squinted into the distance, thinking he could see something glinting through the trees. Was it?

The train.

Artie stumbled in relief and knocked his shoulder into a tree, ricocheting off of it and staggering forward through the flurry of snow he'd shaken loose from the branches. He was almost there.

He tripped up the steps and crashed through the door, a blast of warm air washing over him. 

Jim was by his side in a moment.

"I'm alright," Artie said before Jim could ask, although he let himself lean heavily on Jim as he was guided to the couch.

Jim, frowning, touched Artie's cheek and forehead with the back of his warm hand. He then took one of Artie's hands in his, prompting a hiss from Artie.

"Jesus, Artie." Jim stuffed the hand he held under his arm and grabbed the other one, scuffing it between his palms and leaning down to breathe on it. Artie let out a broken laugh and gritted his teeth at the sharp, stinging pain. 

"What are your toes like?" Jim asked pointedly. 

Artie gave him an apologetic look and shrugged his aching shoulders. 

"Damn it, come on." 

Artie was pulled up to standing and sent to his quarters with curt instructions to, "Strip."

Artie willed his stubborn fingers to cooperate, but they were still struggling with the buttons on his coat when Jim returned from wherever he had gone. Jim batted his hands away wordlessly and took over, crowding into him and forcing him slowly back on clumsy, frozen feet. 

"Jim-"

Jim looked up at him, face still turned down towards Artie's buttons, one eyebrow arched.

"...Thank you."

His look softened and he slid his hands up over Artie's shoulders, pushing his coat down his arms until it dropped to the floor with a muffled thump. He flicked Artie's suspenders off his shoulders and began working on the next layer of buttons, fingers swift and nimble. "What happened?" 

"I, uh, I was found out."

Jim hummed skeptically, fingers still working, urgent but calm.

"Well, I may have given myself away." Artie clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering.

Jim hummed again, and pulled Artie's shirt down his arms, tugging it free of his pants and then tossing it to the floor. His fingers went to Artie's pants and opened his fly, peeling the material down his hips to his thighs. 

"I uh," Artie swallowed, "I landed in a snow drift." 

Jim crowded closer yet, and Artie stumbled back, sitting down hard. He began to shiver, shuddering waves that started in his belly and moved outward. They made his jaw ache. He grabbed at the blankets and tugged them up over his clammy shoulders, watching dumbly as Jim dropped to one knee and started on Artie's boots. 

Jim tugged off Artie's second boot just as a whistle sounded from what must have been the kitchen. Artie watched as Jim curled his fingers over Artie's toes, squeezing. It didn't feel like anything. He should probably be worried but he mostly felt numb and slightly grateful. "Pants off," Jim ordered, patting Artie on the knee and disappearing out the door.

Artie grimaced and worked his pants down his legs. His skin felt odd under his own touch, alien and cold. His legs were pale. He stared at them dumbly for a moment and then pulled them onto the mattress.

He was curled up under the blankets, gritting his teeth against the shudders wracking his body, when Jim returned with a hot water bottle, wrapping it in a towel. He tucked it under the blankets by Artie's feet and then laid the back of his hand against Artie's neck and ear. He was frowning.

"That's gonna hurt in a little bit," Artie said, indicating the hot water bottle. 

"Yes," Jim said. His voice was matter-of-fact but his eyes were soft.

Artie watched Jim strip off his clothes, quick and efficient. He clenched his fingers in the blanket and tried to ignore how they burned.

Jim tugged up one side of the blanket and slid under it, curling around Artie. He twitched away once, when Artie's toes came into contact with his ankle, but gamely moved back in close. He took Artie's hands and tucked them under his arms.

Artie bit back a hiss and let Jim guide his head in, tucking his face into the curve of Jim's neck. His skin felt feverishly hot against Artie's chapped lips and frozen nose. He closed his eyes and burrowed closer. 

The heat at his feet was beginning to bleed through the frozen layers of him, and sharp, needling pangs of sensation began to prick at his toes. Artie groaned and shifted his feet restlessly, hooking his chin over Jim's shoulder and blowing out a slow, measured breath. His eyes clenched shut.

Their legs tangled together, hot thighs and calves and knees capturing his own between them. Jim's hands swept steadily over his back.

Warmth bit and clawed its way back into him, settling deep.

Artie breathed.

***


End file.
